


Mistletoe

by sneetchstar



Series: Verona Society [2]
Category: Still Star-Crossed (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Mistletoe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-18
Updated: 2017-12-18
Packaged: 2019-02-16 10:44:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13052409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sneetchstar/pseuds/sneetchstar
Summary: Rosaline and Benvolio meet up at another royal ball, this time at Christmas.





	Mistletoe

**Author's Note:**

> I liked the little Everyone is Alive AU I created with the Masquerade ball fic I did at Halloween, so here's another from that same world.

The first thing Rosaline does on entering the ballroom is scan the crowd, her sharp eyes moving from face to face, looking…

The second thing she does is chide herself for her foolishness. “Stop it,” she whispers, prompting Livia to give her a curious look.

“What?” she asks.

“What?” Rosaline repeats, turning to face her sister.

“You said something,” Livia says.

“Did I?”

“Are you ill?” Livia reaches up and presses her palm to her sister’s forehead.

Rosaline pulls away. “I am fine, thank you,” she retorts. “A woman can’t mutter to herself without bringing her health into question?”

“A woman? Generally not, no,” Livia answers. “Come on. Let’s get something to drink.” She hooks her hand through Rosaline’s elbow and tugs her along.

As they walk, Rosaline starts looking again.

_Maybe he’s not here yet._

Since the autumn masquerade ball, Rosaline Capulet has found herself the recipient of occasional gifts and covert attention from a certain Montague rogue she never expected to actually like. Roses are the most frequent offering, but he has also sent her silk ribbons, a smooth stone with the impression of a leaf in it, and, her favorite, a book filled with pages that are all blank except one. On the first page, he wrote, “Something to hold the thoughts of an angel. -B.”

She keeps it in the bottom of her wardrobe, at the very back, hidden from her aunt’s prying eyes.

_This would be easier if Juliet were here. Then I would have an excuse to see him, as he is Romeo’s cousin._

But Juliet is at her home, resting in bed while Romeo dotes over her, the child with which she got immediately pregnant making her feel ill nearly all the time.

Rosaline accepts a glass of spiced wine from Livia, then the two sisters decide to get the Unpleasantness out of the way before the receiving line gets too long.

They head towards the royal dais, where the prince and princess are seated. Once they reach the head of the line, they both curtsey respectfully.

“Merry Christmas, Lady Rosaline, Lady Livia,” Prince Escalus says, his sentiments echoed by his sister.

“Merry Christmas, your grace,” the Capulet sisters answer. “Thank you for inviting our family,” Rosaline adds.

“Of course,” he answers. “It would hardly be a royal ball without one of the two most prominent families in Verona in attendance.” He looks like he wants to say more, his mouth hanging open for just a few seconds before he closes it.

Rosaline nods and says, “Our uncle and aunt send their respects and wishes for a pleasant holiday.” She curtseys again, then turns away.

Lord and Lady Capulet have skipped the yule ball for as long as anyone can remember, so the prince is not insulted by their absence; in fact, he expects it.

“That wasn’t awkward at all,” Livia says once they are out of earshot, her voice tinged with sarcasm.

“He was the one who decided ‘the nature of our acquaintance must change’,” Rosaline points out as they find a place to stand and watch the festivities. “But that was last spring and I am well over him now. It’s not my problem if he regrets his decision.”

“Oh, he definitely does,” Livia says. “But why doesn’t he just… Rosaline?”

Rosaline’s attention has wandered elsewhere, a familiar laugh drawing her gaze away.

“Ohhh,” Livia says, drawing the single syllable out for far too long.

“What ‘oh’? What do you see?” Rosaline’s attention snaps back to her sister for a second. When she looks back to where she heard his laugh, he is gone.

“Your secret admirer, no longer a secret,” Livia says in a low voice, leaning close to her sister. “No wonder you’re ‘well over’ the prince.”

“Don’t you dare tell! Our aunt will have him killed!” Rosaline harshly whispers, not even bothering to deny it.

She knows her shrewd sister has seen some of the gifts, and trusts her, but she cannot risk having Giuliana discover anything. It was bad enough getting grilled with questions about her dance with the Montague after the autumn masquerade.

“I won’t say a word,” Livia promises. “Why though? Why him?”

Rosaline shakes her head in surrender. “I was as surprised as you,” she answers. “But he’s… charming. And kind. Surprisingly… sweet.”

“He’s a drunken libertine, by all accounts,” Livia carefully says.

“By all of whose accounts? Aunt and Uncle’s? Of course they would say that,” Rosaline points out. “He could become the next Pope and they would still decry him for no other reason than his family name.”

“Lady Livia, may I have the honor?” A young man interrupts them, his hand outstretched in invitation.

“Go on,” Rosaline says, giving her a gentle nudge.

“Maybe he’ll come find you now that you’re alone,” Livia whispers in her sister’s ear before taking the man’s hand and following him to the dance floor.

Rosaline automatically looks around again. She can’t find him. “Or maybe I’ll just stand here and talk to myself,” she says. Then she lifts up on tiptoe, trying to get a better vantage.

“Lose something, Capulet?” His voice behind her is warm but tinged with humor. She only jumps a little bit.

“Only my mind,” she sighs in response, not turning to face him.

“I very much doubt you’ll find it out there,” he replies, his voice closer. “Not a single one amongst them, save your sister.”

Rosaline snorts a very unladylike laugh, leaning back slightly. As she does so, she is slightly startled to discover that he is _right_ behind her. She lingers, drawn to his warmth, but straightens up before calling attention to herself.

“You look beautiful tonight,” he says, and she feels him lightly nuzzle her hair. “Red suits you.”

“Thank you,” she answers. She knew it was a risk wearing red, traditionally the Montague’s color, but as it is also a Christmas color, she thought it would be all right. “I’m sure you look very handsome,” she returns. She still hasn’t turned around to look at him.

He chuckles behind her, and she feels a bold hand come to land on her waist. “I’ve missed you,” he says, his lips so close to her ear they nearly brush against the delicate skin there. Since the weather has turned cold, they go out less, and therefore, run into one another less.

Rosaline can only nod, not knowing how to respond. She has missed him, too, but is reluctant to admit it as she is not as bold as her would-be suitor.

The song ends, and Benvolio takes his opportunity. “Dance with me,” he says, moving around in front of her.

He _does_ look very handsome indeed, and she has to take a moment before retorting, “Are you asking me or telling me?”

“Telling you,” he answers, then slides his hand over hers, lifting her wine glass and setting it on a nearby table. Then he takes her hand, his fingers warm and strong, and leads her to the dance floor.

Rosaline automatically tries to find Livia and quickly spots her, now dancing with a different young man. She smiles, and it is still on her face when Benvolio pulls her into his arms.

“Ah, it is good to see you smiling,” he teases. “It is a Christmas miracle.”

She immediately stops, but it creeps up on her again, unbidden. “My aunt and uncle not finding out about us would be a Christmas miracle,” she unthinkingly replies.

“Us? We are an Us?” he asks, grinning as he pulls her just a tiny bit closer. Not close enough to be indecent, but definitely close enough to be familiar.

“Oh. Um. Well…” she stammers, unsure how to respond. “How would _you_ classify it?”

“Oh, we are definitely an Us. I was merely surprised to hear you say it,” he answers. “But do not fret, dear Capulet, I have exercised great care to ensure that your shrew of an aunt does not discover our clandestine acquaintance.”

“This is madness, you know that,” she says. She has given it a surprising amount of thought, and has even written about it in the journal he gifted her. _What can come of our association? What if we fall in love? What then? Juliet defied them to marry Romeo, and the shock nearly killed them. If I followed suit, it may finish them off. Not that I would be terribly heartbroken if that were to come to pass, mind, but…_

“Rosaline.” His voice draws her out of her head. “Of course this is madness. That’s what makes it so… fun.” With that, he twirls her away, then pulls her back into his arms.

“I am a good girl,” she feebly protests.

“Of course you are,” he answers, giving her a look that makes her feel unreasonably warm and liquid. The hand on her waist slides again, and her body is nearly flush against his now. “That could be part of why I am so drawn to you.” His gaze drops to her lips for a quick but telling moment. “That and these lips.”

“Stop,” she whispers. “You are holding me too close.”

He immediately loosens his grasp a bit, but she doesn’t back up right away. Her hesitation is enough for him to know that his attraction for her is definitely not one-sided. “Forgive me, I do not wish to cause a scandal,” he says.

“My aunt and uncle are not here, but there are others here who would not hesitate to go running to tell them anything they saw that _could_ be considered untoward,” she explains.

“I know, and I am sorry for that,” he replies, and she can tell he is in earnest.

The song ends, and to her surprise, he pulls away but keeps a hold of her hand. He leads her from the dance floor, in a different direction than before.

“Where are we going?” she asks. “My sister…”

“Will be fine,” he answers. “If she’s even half as clever and resourceful as you, you have nothing to worry about.”

Rosaline nearly stumbles over her surprise, but Benvolio’s hand holding hers keeps her upright. “You’re rather generous with the compliments this evening, Montague,” she says.

He lightly shrugs, coming to a stop in a quiet, vacant spot near one end of the ballroom. “Seasonal cheer, I guess,” he says. He sees how she is regarding him and adds, “I’m not drunk.”

“I know, I would have been able to smell it on you when we were dancing,” she answers. She bites her lower lip, debating if she should ask the question that has been in the forefront of her mind since Livia brought it up.

“What is it?” he asks, his voice soft. He places his other hand over hers, encapsulating it between his.

“Livia mentioned something earlier tonight… about… you. Or, rather, your reputation,” she finally, haltingly says.

“Oh. That.” He slowly lifts her hand to his lips, where he softly kisses it. “I will admit I have spent time in the local brothel. However,” he presses on before she can speak or pull her hand away, “I have not been there since well before the masquerade ball.”

“Oh,” she answers, her voice quiet. _Well before?_

“As for the tavern, well… I am there significantly less now that Romeo is married, but I had been growing tired of that sort of life anyway. I’ve been a few times, but I no longer drink to excess. Much to Mercutio’s dismay,” he says with a chuckle.

In truth, Rosaline was less concerned about the tavern than the brothel, but she is relieved to hear that he is mending his wayward habits.

“From what I hear, your friend needs no help finding drinking companions,” she replies. Then, realizing how judgmental she sounds, she shrugs. “Each to his own though. It is not my place to judge the activities of others.”

Benvolio smiles at her. “I am curious about what activities you find enjoyable,” he says, tilting his head at her as he moves closer. He glances over to the end of the room, where there is a fire blazing in one of several fireplaces around the perimeter. It is also in a semi-secluded alcove and there is a bench in front of it. A vacant bench. He takes her hand and leads her towards it, pleased when he is met with no resistance.

“I enjoy reading,” she tells him. “I like to spend time in the gardens, when I get the opportunity. Nothing terribly exciting, I’m afraid.” They sit on the bench and she looks down at her hands, now curled in her lap. “And… I very much like the blank book you gave me. I write in it nearly every day,” she quietly admits.

He gently hooks a finger under her chin and lifts her face to look at him. “I’m so pleased you like it,” he says, his hand lingering, his thumb indulgently caressing her lower lip. “I…” he pauses, gathering his thoughts. He exhales and looks up. “Oh.”

Rosaline looks up as well, following his gaze up over their heads. “Oh,” she echoes.

“It seems our prince still has a bit of romance in his soul,” Benvolio states, still staring at the green sprig with its telltale white berries dangling above them. “Either that or he is trying to ward off demons.”

Rosaline gives him a level look. “I doubt either is the case. This would be Isabella’s doing, not Escalus’. I saw another one earlier,” she says.

He returns his gaze to her. “They say it is bad luck not to observe the tradition,” he comments. He sees her eyes dart around and assures her, “No one is paying us the least bit of attention.”

She unconsciously parts her lips, her tongue first darting out to quickly, nervously lick them. He clearly notices, his blue-gray eyes darkening as he watches.

Rosaline gives him the slightest nod, her hand coming up to rest on the front of his doublet. When he leans forward, her hand slides up to his shoulder.

His lips meet hers, softly at first, and he sighs against her as though her kiss is the only thing on this earth he desires.

He pulls away for the briefest moment, then returns to kiss her more ardently. Her fingers curl into his clothing as she opens her mouth under his. His tongue slides against hers and now it is Rosaline’s turn to sigh.

His arm comes around her waist, pulling her closer, nearly onto his lap, as they lose themselves in the kiss, forgetting where they are and who they are.

Just as Benvolio’s lips begin to wander, kissing a trail to Rosaline’s delectable neck, the band abruptly stops and a fanfare is played, announcing the prince. They suddenly pull away from each other, breathing hard as they stare at one another.

“We should join the others,” Rosaline finally says, glancing at the rest of the partygoers, gathering to listen to the prince give the holiday toast.

“Yes. It would be obvious if we’re not there,” Benvolio agrees, but neither one of them moves.

“Livia will be missing me,” she replies. He leans forward and gives her one more quick kiss. Then he stands, offering his hand.

“Come. We will get some wine on the way,” he suggests. She takes his hand and stands.

When they get near enough to the others, drinks in hand, he gives her hand a final squeeze before releasing her.

She heads right, towards her sister, and he veers left, having spotted Mercutio.

A minute later, their eyes meet across the crowd, and Benvolio raises his glass in a small, silent toast just for Rosaline, drawing yet another rare smile from her.


End file.
